


Relaxation and Condemnation, One in the Same

by cherry_shot



Category: Wilde (1997)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Period Typical Language, eroticism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 20:57:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14028594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherry_shot/pseuds/cherry_shot
Summary: Oscar’s had a rather tumultuous start to the year and has, upon Bosie’s request, decided to allot himself  and his boy some well deserved relaxation in his countryside home. All is going well throughout the first week, the two lovers filling their time with poetry, prose, and the warm comfort of each other’s arms. But eventually, all this play leaves Oscar itching to create but Bosie is having none of it. Besides, it’s not so often that he has Oscar all to himself.





	Relaxation and Condemnation, One in the Same

 

_ “'The love that dare not speak its name', in this century, is such a great affection of an elder for a younger man as there was between David and Jonathan.” _

_ Wilde (1997) _

 

It was already midday when Bosie awoke. Oscar could hear him sigh dramatically as he turned over, muttering something along the lines “O! Where be mine own lover?” as he cuddled into Oscar’s pillow. 

 

“He be across the room,” Oscar called out, laughing behind his tea as he could practically hear Bosie’s eyes roll at the playful teasing to his dramatic antics, “Watching as the sweet morning flower finally blooms, coaxed into waking while thyine own lover sits in statuesque solitude watching thy rise.” Pretending not to hear him, Bosie turned deeper into the pillows and Oscar laughed quietly to himself, placing his cup and book down on the sofa he was seated on, before crossing over the room towards the bed. The early afternoon sun peered bravely through the wide open doors of the bedroom, some sweet, cool spring breeze filtering through the curtains and illuminating Bosie’s sleeping form in a golden cascading halo. 

 

He took a seat on the edge of the bed, patting Bosie’s leg softly as he said, “Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies which best care draws in the brains of men; therefore thou sleep’st so sound.” 

 

“Don’t quote  _ Tempest _ to me Oscar, it's far too early for me to think in iambs.” Bosie huffed feeling the bed drop when Oscar sat down, finally allowing the blankets to slip from his face, golden curls bouncing up from under their silken cage as those dashing blue eyes blinked up at Oscar. 

 

“That’s  _ Julius Caesar _ darling,” Oscar leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Bosie’s forehead, before moving to stand, “Perhaps we ought to spend some time today in revision.” 

 

Bosie’s hand slipped over Oscar’s arm, resting on his shoulder and pulling him back down so that their lips could meet together, a sweet, chaste lover’s good morning broken only by Bosie’s own words for a moment as he whined, “You must let me give you a proper good morning kiss,” before falling back onto the bed. Oscar still in his grip, Bosie grinned as Oscar huffed, torso pulled down over top the other as he blew a strand of hair out of his face. 

 

“You’re absolutely devious my boy, a devilish nymph is truly whom I share my bed with,” He said, giving Bosie a chastising look for a moment before he was overcome by the taste of his sweet, hot tongue coaxing Oscar’s lips open distracted him. Oscar reached one hand behind Bosie’s head, threading his hand through Bosie’s curls as he kissed him. Bosie whined out, high pitched and loud as Oscar pulled away, chasing his lips until he realized he was sitting up when, at that point, he burst out into champagne sparking laughter at Oscar trick. 

 

“Stay in bed with me Oscar, it’s still far too early to be waking if we’re going to continue on with the routine nightly pleasures of your lovey estate.” Bosie called out, tossing an arm behind his head dramatically as he watched keenly while Oscar crossed the room to retrieve his half drunk tea. Oscar couldn’t help but feel the tips of his ears flush at Bosie’s words, the memories of last night’s, and to be frank almost every night since they’d gotten here, escapades, the raw passion and absolutely divine dynamic they had grown to develop with one another. Oscar never held a dull moment of time between his thoughts when he was near his Boise, even when they were apart the memoirs of his time with the land where enough to fill several weeks of Oscar’s time. All of this made Oscar blush, but the memory of last night's debauchery, Bosie’s red lips glistening sinisterly from between his legs, was enough to make not only his ears hot. 

 

“It’s midday, I would have thought someone as young and nimble as yourself would already be bouncing out of bed to chase whatever treats and pleasure made up the new day.” Oscar said, smiling proudly to himself when he saw the perk in Bosie’s demeanor at his words, “Besides lunch, or what I do assume is still breakfest to you, is ready. And I at least need sustenance for the day.” He turned around for a moment, shedding the silk, dark green and embroidered robe he had been wearing to pull on a simple Sunday’s best of his own accord; a  _ blanche chemise  _ and pressed trousers, made signature Wilde with the light tan  _ blouson  _ and it’s little green carnation fresh and blooming from the breast pocket. It was nothing like what would normally constitute for even some partially in his repertoire but in this place, alone with Bosie, Oscar felt no reason to drape himself in the garments of the city. 

 

How unlike himself Boise allowed him to become. 

 

Turning back around and spying his young lover still lounging back on the bed, clearly enjoying the view in front of him, Oscar tutted to himself and said, “Do get dressed!” 

 

“I am.” Bosie said and not for a moment did Oscar believe him, the smirk playing on his face wasn’t helping much, but Oscar offered up his trust, malleable and soft in the delicate hands of the other, and waited patiently for Boise to reveal himself fully dressed. Reveal himself he did. The sheets slide off his body and as he stood and by god did Oscar wonder what he must have done in  former life to afford such beauty to wish to rest by his side. Surely he must have been the guardian angel for the golden child of Gabriel himself, even watching Boise stride towards him, sunlight glimmering on his tanned, taunt skin, made Oscar want to call out loudly in prayer. Such a sight must be holy. “You’re starring darling,” Boise quipped, lifting Oscar’s discarded robe and wrapping it around his shoulders, taking that modern day Adonis from his eyes, before walking into the dining room, no doubt expecting Oscar to follow. 

 

He’d follow him to the end of the Earth. 

 

_ * _

_ * _

_ * _

 

Seated at the breakfast nook, Bosie working his way through the seeming mountain of scones Williams had presented them upon the young man’s request, Oscar rolling his eyes fondly at his youthful demeanor. They ate in pleasant silence, simple gazes and touches in between bites left a soft smile permanently etched into Oscar’s face. Oh, how at peace he was. 

 

“Now Bosie, I do have a bit of a request for you today.” Oscar started, reaching over to stop Bosie from knocking over the glass of sweet rosé he had been nursing throughout their meal, holding the glass lightly between his fingers as bosie thanked him, continuing his search for the sour little green pears he liked so much. 

 

“If you’re going to continue that ghastly request for me to do revisions today, then I’ll positively ignore everything you’re about to say,” Bosie said, huffing in annoyance when all his search offered him was a wine colored plum, which, despite his adoration of those as well, still came below the pears in Bosie’s mind. He bit into the fruit, purposely letting some of the juice drip onto his lips so he could make big show of licking over it while Oscar pretended not to be infatuated. “That is,” He placed the fruit down on his plate, leaning closer to Oscar who, in turn, sipped from the drink he still held in his hand, “Unless you say otherwise,  _ Professor Wilde _ .” 

 

“Oh stop,” Oscar chided, thrusting Bosie’s drink back into the boys hands as he grasped it, leaning back into his chair and grinning at his ability to make Oscar so flustered, annoyed, and aroused all with one little trick. 

 

“No it’s not that at all, I need to get a bit of writing done today and need only a few hours of the afternoon to myself and the pen my dear boy,” He said, placing a gentle hand over Bosie’s own when he saw the beginnings of a frown growing over his face, “It’s just for a short while Bosie, I’m yours entirely.” 

 

“Alright,” Bosie said, taking another bite of his fruit and shaking his head at Oscar’s pressing concern. He turned towards Oscar, flashing him a brilliant smile of pearls and adoration as he assured him, “Really Oscar you’ve no need to worry, I can entertain myself well enough.” At the way Bosie ducked back down after saying such, hiding either a grin or grimace in his fruit Oscar found himself in disbelief of Bosie’s words once again. But, in the same manner, he offered his trust, up once again to the whim and will of Bosie’s volatile emotions he gave himself over to him, sighing and leaning back in his chair. 

 

Bosie hummed quietly as he peered over the newspaper Williams had just dropped off at their table, and Oscar sighed again in soft contempt, fingers itching with an equal burn to carrasses the soft skin of Bosie’s exquistiness and also to draw him, to commit the image to memory through his words. 

 

He chose instead, in that moment, to rest a hand on Bosie’s knee, bobbing up and down slightly as he tapped a tune out along with whatever song he was humming, and turned to look out over the countryside. 

 

_ * _

_ * _

_ * _

 

An hour or so later, after shoeing Bosie away with the remaining half empty bottle of rosé in his hands and a book of poetry that Oscar had given him with a smile, handing over the memories to his second year at college, those lazy august afternoons filled with literary devisists and long glances at the other boys walking down the hallways, Oscar finally retreated to his study. The bed still lay in shambles, neither one of them bothering to tidy it up after Oscar had prompted Bosie’s prolonged departure from it. Oscar turned towards it for a moment and smiled at the domesticity of it. 

 

He sat down at his desk, riffeling his hand over the short stack of letters Williams had dropped off at his desk. Most were professional inquires, he’d taken as many liberties as he could in keeping Bosie and his little getaway private but even he couldn’t control the grapevine and the way news travelled up and down those green stalks. Dionysus’ once lush fruits, bursting with moral depravity and the sinful nature of drink, had shifted now to the simple  _ tête-à-tête _ that took place in the tea rooms on Wilshire or the parlor rooms in the upper estates. 

 

Besides, he couldn’t well be too discreet, people talked too much for their own sake these days and it was only his own eccentricities that kept Bosie, for the most part, out of the limelight of gossip. 

 

Pushing aside the correspondences from acquaintance and business partners alike, Oscar glanced briefly over the letter addressed to him simple from ‘Robert’ and he paused for a moment. In times like this, he wondered too himself what was worse, ignorance or avoidance or an inevitable truth? It had been six months yet Robbie still sent these never relenting requests for a moment in his home. Oscar was, at this point, convinced that it was due only towards his desire to stay ignorant that Bosie was not aware of how desperate Oscars’ former friend, then lover, now critic was to meet with him. He himself decided to stick to avoidance for the time being and slipped the letter inside his desk drawer, hidden safely behind paper scraps and a thickly bound manuscript he had left in the house years ago. 

 

As lovely as Boise’s constant youthful performance was in his day to day life, Oscar had forgotten how simply sweet it was to just sit and write. In fact, it took him just shy an hour before he was crossing over a few misplaced or ill-fitting words and smiling down at his creation, the satisfaction of a tangible acknowledgment to his creativity sitting before him. 

 

He could hear a bit of shuffling outside his door and Oscar paused only for a moment in his editing to call out, “Williams whatever Bosie’s bothering you about, tell him I’ll be done before four.”  

 

“Or you could tell me yourself.” Turning around at the sound of a voice familiar in a different way, Oscar couldn’t help but gasp admiringly when he spied the master of that voice. Bosie leaned on the door frame, relaxed in every way and practically gleaming at Oscar’s starstruck appearance. That sweetened young Adonis, whomst Oscar  wished in every sense of the word to claim as Narcissus but his own neverending adoration for him would make him merely the admirer to a god. 

 

“Bosie, I’ve told you I must get some word done,” Oscar said, forcing himself to turn away so that he might keep of this façade of stoicism a moment longer. He gazed fiercely down at the words on his desk, allowing himself only to listen to the whispers of Bosie’s bare feet crossing over the soft, plush persian carpets he had draped across the floor of the room before the young man collapsed with a huff  onto the same sofa Oscar had rested upon that morning. 

 

“I’ve kept myself occupied long enough in quiet solitude,” Bosie said, turning over to glance at Oscar as he batted those thickly lined lashes towards him, “Now I wish simply to sit in your presence, still lonely but not alone.” 

 

“Oh, oh alright,” Oscar turned back around to his papers and wondered how exactly he was supposed to return to work when the very Muse of his being, the spark of imagination that crafted the lines and words that so adored him, lay basking out in open, nude, just begging him to taste. He did so believe love was a sacrement best took kneeling, and it was only a matter of moments before he abandoned what he had written so far to worship the angel next to him. 

 

But Bosie beat him too it, stretching out his back like one of the big cats in Africa, elegant and graceful as it twisted and stretched in the hot saharan sun but ruthless nonetheless as it grinend over at Oscar with teeth that shone like fangs, before saying, “Read to me what you have written Oscar, please?” 

 

“Of course darling boy,” He said, voice quivering barely above a whisper as the hidden words of ‘I would do  _ anything _ for you’ creeped silently out between his spoken thoughts. Lifting up the page, Oscar looked at what he had written so far and began to recite the partially finished piece. 

 

“Sweet, I blame you not, for mine the fault was, had I not been made of common clay

I had climbed the higher heights unclimbed yet, seen the fuller air, the larger day” 

 

He paused, catching Bosie lowering his hand down down further than it should ever in polite company even dream of going yet Oscar could not held but feel a pulse in his own loins at the thought of watching that hand excite him in the way all young men do.  

 

“From the wilderness of my wasted passion I had struck a better, clearer song,

Lit some lighter light of freer-freedom, battled with some Hydra-headed wrong.” 

 

As he read Oscar couldn't help but spy upon that soft, quick moving hand, ducking in and out of the services and dips Oscar had tasted so many nights before. Such an intimate act was this that Oscar wished so dearly to be able to lounge back fully, an adamant spectator to an act that not even lovers often witnessed. 

 

He continued. 

 

“Had my lips been smitten into music by the kisses but made him bleed, 

You had walked with Bice and the angels on that verdant and enamelled meed.” 

 

Bosie moaned out, the sound penetrating past the rational sense of Oscar’s otherwise dandelion mind and filling the inner workings of his soul with the heavenly shine of his erotic pleasure, this hand secruing it’s hold on the very aspect of his being that signified Bosie apart from the Sibyl Vane’s of their world. 

 

“I had trod the road which Dante treading saw the suns of seven circles shine, 

Ay! Perchance had seen the heavens opening, as they opened to the Florentine.” 

 

It was at this moment that Oscar did in fact lean back in his chair, bringing his paper with him so that he might lay witness to the glorious picture before him. Bosie bring himself to the sweet ecstasy of fulfilment was a sight that gave Oscar such a thirst that was unquenchable when due to his own skin and flesh. But now, when it was merely his own voice and Bosie’s hand, Oscar felt such an unbearable itch in his lower stomach that he thought even he might be brought to ecstasy. 

 

“And the mighty nations would have crowned me, who am crownless now and without name, 

And some orient dwarf had found me kneeling on the threshold of the House of Fame.” 

 

“Oh,  _ Oscar _ ,” Bosie moaned out wantonly, arching up into the invisible weight of whatever fantasy he had concocted in his mind and Oscar felt a quiet gasp escape from him before he continued his recitation.  

 

“I had sat within that marcle circle where the oldest bard is as the young,

And the pipe is ever dropping honey, and the lyre’s strings are ever strung.” 

 

At the mention of the steady pour of that cascading golden wine, Bosie’s thighs clenched visibly and oh how desperately Oscar wanted to meld himself in between them, yet he subjected himself to the climax of Bosie’s performance. All visible signs of release became quickly present under Oscar’s watchful eye yet he urged himself to continue, and finish the remainder of what he had written, they had plenty of time to worry about the rest. 

 

“Keats had lifted up his hymenal curls from out the poppy-seeded wine, 

With ambrosial mouth had kissed my forehead, clasped in the noble love in mine.” 

 

And at this point, overcome by Bosie’s own pleasure, any hesitation felt on his part was swept away by desire and the very thought of work was a lifetime away. Oscar cast off his  _ blouson  _ and knelt on knee onto the plush nature of the couch, greedily taking in the sight of Bosie’s flushed skin and chest alongside the lazy smile of the post-coitual bliss he achieved himself. 

 

“I’ll let you return to your work now, if you so wish,” Bosie said, running his hand through Oscar’s hair and resting it on his shoulders as the older man loomed over top him. 

 

“You are the only thing on my mind now, Bosie dear.” Oscar bent down to place a light, almost platonic kiss, completely unfitting of their current situation and status within each other’s minds, onto Bosie’s lips and for once Bosie let it remain just that, a sweet simple courting kiss, for a moment before he was gripping Oscar’s lapels and pulling him firmly down even further. 

 

They spent the rest of the afternoon tasting and exploring in the sinfully sweet pleasures of love and all the little secrets it held. Oscar had never been happier, to spend such time varying from the domesticity found in marriage to the erotic engagements that Bosie seemed always so keen to implore onto Oscar. But he was happy to bend to the whim of his devious little flower.  

**Author's Note:**

> so look. we all hate boise. but can i live a little?? please?! i just watched wilde and wanted to beat boise up the entire time, so i wrote this to lie to myself that they were happy the whole time, no one died, and no one was a little fuckin bitch :)


End file.
